


I Can't Get Over You, You Put Your Mark On Me

by supernope



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Birthday Sex, M/M, Please Forgive me, Spanking, anyway happy bday harry!!!!!!, my comfort zone is mature rated fluff, public handjobs, that's literally it i'm sorry this is trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 08:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3284267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernope/pseuds/supernope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s eyes are dark, glittering under the passing street lamps, when he turns to look at Louis and drawls, “It’s my birthday.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Louis laughs, squeezing his leg. “Yes, I know.”</p>
<p>Harry turns to face him fully, then, legs drawn up against his chest. Louis frowns, opens his mouth to tell Harry to put on his seatbelt, but Harry’s plea cuts him off, has him swallowing thickly in the quiet of the car.</p>
<p>“You promised.”</p>
<p>[or: Harry is turning 21 and he wants his 21 birthday spankings.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can't Get Over You, You Put Your Mark On Me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry, this is completely out of my wheelhouse. I blame Raina for the idea.

The radio is buzzing unintelligibly and night is pressing in on the windows when Louis pulls the car to a stop by the side door of the venue. He waits, legs jittering, while Harry opens the door and throws himself into the passenger seat.

“Go go go,” he breathes, tipping his head back against the headrest. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a riot of curls, still tangled from having Louis’ hands in it while they danced earlier. Louis presses down on the gas and eases out onto the street, waits until they’ve merged into the sparse 3am traffic to reach across the console and rest his hand on Harry’s leg.

“You didn’t even wait for them to bring out the cake?”

Harry shakes his head, thigh flexing under Louis’ palm. His voice is low, raspy when he says, “Didn’t want to. Wanted to be with you.”

“Harry,” Louis sighs. He takes the opportunity of a red light to lift his hand and grip the back of Harry’s neck, lean across the car for a quick kiss. “You’re going to be with me for the next nine months. The rest of our  _ lives _ .”

Harry’s eyes are dark, glittering under the passing street lamps, when he turns to look at Louis and drawls, “It’s my birthday.”

“Yes,” Louis laughs, squeezing his leg. “Yes, I know.”

Harry turns to face him fully, then, legs drawn up against his chest. Louis frowns, opens his mouth to tell Harry to put on his seatbelt, but Harry’s plea cuts him off, has him swallowing thickly in the quiet of the car.

“You promised.”

Louis shifts in his seat, heat rumbling in his belly at the intent behind Harry’s words. Still, “Babe, we already decided to wait until we get to Sydney. We have a flight to catch tomorrow.”

“I don’t care,” Harry insists. There’s a scuffle of denim on leather, followed by the whisper of metal on metal, and Louis sneaks a glance out of the corner of his eye as he turns into their subdivision. His foot slips off the pedal and he nearly drives right into the security gate, manages to slam on the brake just in time to stop by the guard booth. 

He hopes that the booth casts enough of a shadow that the guard on duty can’t see the way Harry has leaned back against the door and unzipped his jeans, can’t see the way the muscles in Harry’s forearm are shifting as he slips a hand inside his pants and pumps his cock lazily. The guard just smiles sleepily at him, though, and opens the gate for the car with a murmured, “Have a good night, Mr. Tomlinson.”

Louis nods tersely and eases the car through, twists slowly down the winding streets while he tries to block out the soft noises Harry keeps making. He doesn’t want their car to end up on one of the neighbor’s lawns. Pulling into the driveway and turning off the car is an exercise in self-control. Louis loves their neighbors, but he’s not sure they’re  _ quite _ ready to see him with his hand down Harry’s jeans.

“Inside,” he manages to choke out, carefully not looking at Harry as he unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car. He tries to adjust himself surreptitiously, in case anyone is awake and happens to be looking out the window, then rushes up the path to unlock the door. The moment Harry has slipped inside after him, Louis flips the locks and pushes Harry back against the door, pins his wrists above his head and grinds against him. 

“So impatient,” he whispers into the skin of Harry’s neck before biting down on the tendon. Harry’s head falls back against the door on a moan, wrists flexing against Louis’ grip, but he doesn’t try to move his hands, just lets Louis mark him up, breath held and hips gone still while he waits for Louis to tell him what to do.

He doesn’t move an inch when Louis lets go and steps back, just stares across at Louis through eyes gone heavy-lidded, arms still held above his head. He looks ruined already, jacket askew and the head of his dick peeking out the waistband of his pants, smearing precome across the bottom of his shirt. His fingers twitch against the wood of the door, anticipation written in every line of his body. It’s heady, the way Harry trusts him so implicitly, gives him complete control. He wants to cherish it, wants to make Harry feel good.

“Good boy,” Louis murmurs, and Harry’s eyelids flutter with the praise. Louis takes a minute to study him, the way his eyelashes tremble against the curves of his cheekbones, the way his chest is heaving as he pants out into the still air of the room, before asking, “You sure you want this tonight?”

Harry nods immediately, his whispered, “ _ Please _ ,” barely carrying across the oyer. Louis hears him, though, always hears him.

“Come on, love.”

The walk to the bedroom is short but Harry sheds clothing impatiently as he goes, so that he’s fully naked by the time they get there. Louis lets out a strangled laugh when he immediately crawls onto the bed and lays face-down, knees tucked up underneath him and arse in the air.

“Harry, please.” Louis grasps his shoulder and turns him over, hands gentle as he smooths them down his body and spreads him out. His skin is smooth and warm, tattoos stark against his skin in the pale moonlight filtering in through the windows and he smells like cologne and clean sweat after a long night of dancing. Louis’ belly twists in appreciation, but he slows the path of his hands as he strokes them up his sides, then down to grip his hips. Ducking his head, he noses at Harry’s temple, brushes a kiss along the curve of his jaw and murmurs, “Where’s the hurry.”

Harry blinks up at him, eyes already gone glassy. His body is trembling, strung tight with anticipation, and Louis swipes his hands back up his torso to cup his face. 

“Relax,” he commands gently before stretching out on top of him, pressing him into the mattress and drawing him into a kiss. A moan rumbles in Harry’s chest at the weight of Louis on top of him, the feeling of being pinned down. His hands slide up Louis’ back, hold him close as he surrenders.

Louis kisses him slowly, threads his fingers into Harry’s hair and tugs and scratches at his scalp until he can feel Harry’s heart rate slow, can feel the tension in his muscles ease, then a bit longer, until his lips have gone numb and Harry’s movements have gone syrupy-slow. 

Satisfied, he eases back, press a chaste kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth and whispers, “On your stomach, love,” before drawing back.

Louis slides off the bed so that he can undresses quickly, gets lube out of the bedside table, and takes a moment to draw in deep, calming breaths. He wants to be careful, can’t let himself get too overwhelmed, needs to give Harry what he wants. The sight of Harry when he turns back around knocks the breath right back out of him.

Harry is in the center of the bed on his hands and knees, head hanging low between his shoulders while he waits. His back is one long, smooth curve and his legs are spread so that Louis can settle between them, toes curling and uncurling against the mattress in anticipation. He looks gorgeous, all flushed, tanned skin, hair brushing the duvet in heavy, loose curls, and Louis stomach tightens. He finds himself shaking just a bit as he knees up onto the bed, want thrumming in his veins, a need to just touch Harry, anchor himself.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, stroking a hand down the center of Harry’s back. Harry lets out a soft, keening moan when Louis stops at the curve of his bum, wiggles his hips when all Louis does is trace shapes into the small of his back. He’s stalling, building the anticipation, but Harry has never been very patient when it comes to this.

Louis tuts at him and Harry stills, whispers out a strangled, “Sorry. Please, Lou.”

He isn’t expecting it when Louis draws his hand back and lands one solid smack against his bum and he moans, arms shaking before he’s able to draw himself back up, steady himself. Louis smooths a hand over the angry red mark blooming on his skin, marvels at the heat rolling off Harry’s body in waves. Throat tight, he asks, “Alright?”

Harry nods frantically, rushes to reassure him. “Yes, yes,” he babbles, “good, more. Please.”

“Count them off. And don’t come yet,” Louis instructs, reigning himself in, and he delivers the next three in rapid succession, pleased at how steady Harry’s voice remains as he counts aloud, two three four. “My good boy,” he whispers, leaning over him to press a kiss to the back of his neck. Harry preens under the praise, back arching so that he can get closer to Louis’ mouth, to the whisper-light trail of Louis’ fingers against his side.

Louis spreads his fingers wide for five, six, and seven, tries to space them out. He knows that Harry likes it when he covers as much of him as he can, likes to feel it the next day, the subtle, aching reminder every time he moves. Louis watches blood rush to the surface, mesmerized, blood humming with every noise Harry makes, every choked-off gasp, the way his hips pump in mid-air, searching for friction on his neglected cock. Louis wraps a hand around himself, strokes loosely to try and ease some of the urgency pounding at the base of his spine while he listens as Harry’s voice begins to falter on eight, nine, ten.

When Louis drops his hands to uncap the lube, Harry shuffles upright a bit, twists his head around and protests in a voice gone thick and trembly, “That’s not even half -” 

“Did I tell you to sit up?” Harry makes a quiet whimpering noise, then shakes his head quickly and lets it fall between his arms again. Lube momentarily forgotten, Louis lands a smack on the underside of Harry’s arse, where he knows Harry will be able to feel it tomorrow, and Harry gasps, elbows buckling, and falls to his forearms on the mattress. Louis bites back his own groan at the sight he makes, all spread out, arse in the air for him.

Harry’s voice is reedy, word clumsy on his tongue and muffled by the blankets when he calls out, “Eleven.”

“You’re so good for me,” Louis praises, picking the lube back up and squeezing some out onto his fingers. They’re shaking. “Always so good.”

Harry makes a low, grumbling noise of contentment, buries his face in the crook of his elbow while Louis kneads at him, trying to soothe the angry redness of his skin. He whimpers when Louis brushes the pad of his finger over his hole, lets out a soft, desperate plea when Louis presses his finger in and rocks back against him, trying to draw him in deeper. 

Louis works him open slowly, fucking him open with one finger, then two before he pulls them out and brings his hand down against Harry’s bum, two on each cheek, the sound resoundingly loud in the quiet of the room. Harry keens low in his throat when Louis immediately presses both fingers back in, chokes out an obedient, “Fifteen.”

“You’re doing so well,” Louis encourages, crooking his fingers so that Harry cries out and spreads his knees wider, fingers twisting in the duvet. His cock has been steadily dripping precome onto the blanket, but he hasn’t made a move to touch himself, hasn’t even asked. “My brilliant boy. We’re almost there.”

Harry whines, babbles out a string of pleas when Louis tucks in a third finger, back arching as he pushes back against Louis’ hand. Louis spanks him with his fingers still buried inside of him, cock twitching at the noises Harry makes and the way a shudder ripples down his back. He waits until Harry is in the middle of choking out the word sixteen to deliver the next two, belly going tight at the little sob of pleasure Harry lets out.

“Eighteen,” Harry breathes, lifting his head so that he can gulp in air. He turns his head a bit, so that Louis can see the hectic flush of his cheeks and the way his lashes are damp with tears, lips swollen and bitten red. There’s a quaver in his voice when he whispers, “Louis.”

Concern knits Louis brow and he holds himself still, needs to be sure that Harry is alright before he takes this any further. “Are you okay, darling?” 

Louis settles his hand on the curve of Harry’s bum, gentle and reassuring. Harry’s skin is burning and his hair is damp with sweat, but he nods firmly, pushes back against Louis’ hand and demands, “More. Nineteen.”

Louis bites off a curse, heat twisting in his belly, and pulls his fingers out so that he can give Harry what he’s asking. He brings his hand down against Harry’s other cheek once, twice.

“Twenty,” Harry pants out, forehead braced against his forearm. The flush has spread to the back of his neck and partway down his back and there’s sweat beading along the dip of his spine with the effort of holding himself up, keeping it together.

Louis takes a moment to grab the lube and slick himself up, then wipes his hands on the duvet, reaches out to knead at Harry’s reddened skin. Harry moans and sinks down a bit lower, back bowing as his cock blurts out more precome. Chest tight with love, with pride, Louis squeezes at Harry’s hips and whispers, “Ready, love?”

Harry nods jerkily and fights to straighten his back, waits patiently for Louis to land the last of his birthday spankings. Louis takes a moment to just admire him, marvels for the millionth time that he gets to call Harry his. His brilliant boy. He puts a bit more strength behind number twenty-one, wants Harry to be able to feel it the next day, and Harry cries out, hisses out a string of curses and twists his hands in the blankets with the effort not to come.

“Good, you’re so good,” Louis babbles, gripping Harry’s bum and lining himself up before Harry’s even had a chance to catch his breath. 

Harry wriggles back against him immediately, back heaving as he fights to catch his breath, and Louis pushes in, buries himself inside of Harry in one smooth thrust. Harry is so tight, so warm and responsive as he shakes underneath Louis. Overwhelmed, Louis drapes himself over Harry’s back, holding him up with an arm banded across his hips, so that he can brush a kiss against the nape of Harry’s neck, press his mouth to the soft skin behind Harry’s ear and whisper meaningless praise that has Harry arching and wiggling underneath him, desperate and impatient.

“Louis,” he whimpers, shifting back and forth, trying to get Louis to move.

Louis shushes him, eases onto his knees and smooths a hand down Harry’s back to try and soothe him, to calm him.

“I’ve got you, love,” he murmurs, then he draws back, pulls nearly all the way out before snapping his hips. He sets a hard pace, punching soft whimpering noises out of Harry with each thrust, every time his hips meet the angry, red skin of his bum, and when he wraps a hand around Harry’s cock, all it takes is one tug before he’s coming so hard his arms give out and he collapses onto the mattress. 

Belly tight, heat coiled around his spine, Louis pulls out and fists his cock, bracing one hand against Harry’s back while he tugs himself off quickly. He comes with a groan, shudders through his orgasm as he comes all over Harry’s arse.

The sight of his come on Harry’s skin, streaked across the splotchy handprints, makes Louis groan and he reaches out with a trembling hand, swipes his fingers through it and massages it into his heated skin. Harry lets out a long, raspy moan, shifting restlessly against the blankets, unsure of whether he wants to push back into Louis’ grip or away. Sapped of energy, limbs shaking with the effort of holding himself up, Louis drops his hands, crawls over so that he can curl himself around Harry exhaustedly. He buries his face in Harry’s hair and gathers him against his chest until his trembling subsides, then he turns him gently onto his side and brushes his hair off his face.

“How do you feel?” he asks once Harry has blinked his eyes open. They’re hazy, dark and heavy-lidded, but he smiles slowly, tips his head forward in search of a kiss. Louis gives it to him, curls a hand around the back of his neck and holds him close while he nibbles on his bottom lip and coaxes his mouth open. “We should shower,” he whispers, but Harry just shakes his head and wraps himself around Louis, sucks Louis’ tongue into his mouth.

Happiness rumbling in his chest, Louis rolls on top of Harry, presses him into the mattress and noses under his jaw, nibbles at his collarbones.

“Really, though,” he mumbles into Harry’s skin. “Early flight. Need to shower.”

Harry makes a noise of protest and flaps his hands at Louis when he climbs off of him and slips off the bed, but Louis just grabs his hands and pulls him upright, cooing when Harry winces at the drag of the duvet against his bum.

“Poor baby,” he keens, crowding between Harry’s splayed legs and cupping his jaw so that he can pepper his face with kisses. “Come shower with me, I’ll make you feel better.”

“Can’t,” Harry retorts, clutching at Louis’ hips. Louis’ brow furrows in confusion, but Harry just tips his head back, eyes slitted with contentment, and whispers, “Already feel perfect.”

;;

The alarm on Harry’s phone goes off while it’s still gray out and the birds have just begun to sing outside their window. Louis smacks the phone off the table with a groan and turns back into Harry, curls tighter around him and buries his face in the back of his neck. He can feel Harry waking up against him, though, knows that once he does, he won’t be able to get back to sleep. They have a flight to catch, after all, and Liam will be waiting for them at the airport. 

He lets Harry think he’s fallen back asleep, though, in hopes of sneaking just a few more minutes. He can barely stop a smile from spreading across his face when Harry turns over with a groan and croaks out, “Lou, don’t you dare go back to sleep.” Harry’s chilled fingers slide across his shoulder and Louis instinctively shies away, giving up the ruse. He can’t stop the snorting laugh from slipping out when Harry continues, “My arse hurts and I refuse to carry you, get up.”

“My poor baby,” Louis coos, drawing Harry in without opening his eyes. He presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead and slides a hand down his back, until he can rest his palm lightly against Harry’s bum. His skin is still warm and Harry shivers against him, pushing back against his hand.

“We don’t have time for that,” Harry moans, voice laced with regret, before wiggling out of Louis’ grip and sliding off the bed. 

Louis watches him shamelessly as he walks around the room naked, admires the splotchy red marks still visible on his skin in the dim light of the rising sun. They have a fifteen hour flight ahead of them, it’s going to be uncomfortable for Harry. Louis’ stomach jerks pleasantly at the thought. Harry loves the reminder.

Both of their bags are packed and Harry has already wiggled himself into a pair of jeans and an oversized jumper by the time Louis manages to heave himself out of bed to go brush his teeth. He has never understood how Harry can spend such a long flight in a pair of skinnies, but he admires it nonetheless. Shrugging, he slips into some joggers and a hoodie and grabs a beanie and his phone, then shuffles into the kitchen. Harry already has two mugs of tea steeping, bless him.

Mumbling incoherently, Louis sidles up behind Harry and wraps his arms around his waist, rests his cheek against his back and splays his hands over his belly.

“Here we go again,” he sings softly, smiling at the way Harry’s back rumbles with laughter against his cheek.

“I can’t wait,” Harry murmurs. At Louis’ questioning hum, he turns in Louis’ grip and loops his arms around Louis’ shoulders, clarifies, “I can’t wait to see their faces, hear them sing along to every word while we sing about you tying me up in bed.”

A helpless smile curls Louis’ lips and he leans up for a kiss, murmurs against Harry’s mouth, “Dirty boy.”

Harry just hums in agreement and opens up for Louis. They lose track of time, let their tea go cold before Harry’s phone rings from his pocket and startles them apart. Louis watches, amused and a bit dazed, as Harry fights the phone out of his jeans and reads the display.

“It’s the car service, we have to go.” He turns around the kitchen with a sigh. “Say goodbye to the house.”

“Bye house,” Louis indulges before grabbing their bags and trudging toward the front door. “See you in a few months.”

The drive to the airport takes forever in the morning traffic and Harry slumps low in the seat so that his bum is hanging off it, trying to avoid friction against his sensitive skin.

“Should have booked a flight with those sleep pods,” Louis comments, snapping a quick photo of Harry. He looks so silly, folded up in the back seat of this little town car with his bum hanging in midair. “You could have laid on your stomach.”

Harry just shrugs and turns a bit so that he’s facing Louis, offers him a serene smile. “I like it.”

“I know you do,” Louis murmurs, fondness curling in his chest. He slides a hand across the seat so that he can link their pinkies together, lets his eyes fall shut for the rest of the drive while he listens to the rush of traffic around them and the soft, comforting cadence of Harry’s breathing.

~

Their security meets them at the side entrance of the airport and they manage to slip past check-in and security and arrive at the gate just in time for boarding. Liam and Paddy are already seated in the row behind them, earphones in and phones in hand.

“Lovely of you to join us,” Liam comments mildly without even looking up.

“We got here,” Harry retorts, storing their carry-ons, then sitting down gingerly.

Louis uses the rest of boarding time to send off a few emails and text messages, half his attention always on Harry. He wants to touch him, wants to settle a hand on his knee or tug him in against his side, but passengers and stewardesses keep walking up and down the aisles, and he can feel Alberto watching them from across the small gap, knows that he’s keeping an eye on the passengers as well. Harry can’t stop shifting and letting out restless huffs, feet slipping on the carpet as he tries to find a comfortable position. 

Louis waits until the airplane doors have closed and the pilot has asked for everyone to be seated, for all phones to be turned off to twist around in his seat and put a hand on Harry’s leg. Harry’s cheeks are flushed and the hair at his temples is a bit damp. Brows furrowed, Louis asks, “You alright, love?”

Harry nods, but he closes his hand over Louis’ and squeezes. His chest is rising and falling rapidly with shallow breaths and his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. 

“Hurts,” he mumbles, but it comes out thick, laced with pleasure. Ah.

Louis drops his gaze to Harry’s lap, unsurprised to see the hard line of his cock pressing against the front of his jeans. Harry’s gaze flicks to the bathrooms, but Louis shakes his head and squeezes his thigh.

“We have to stay seated for take-off. Can you wait?”

Harry drops his head back against the seat and lets out a barely-audible whine that has Louis’ nerve endings prickling. Letting go of Harry, he leans forward to sift through the pouch on the seat in front of him, finds a neatly folded airplane-issue blanket. He tears the plastic wrap open quickly and drapes the blanket across Harry’s lap.

Leaning in close, he brushes a hand against Harry’s cock over the blanket, pressing down with the heel of his hand so that Harry shudders, and whispers, “Can you be quiet?”

He can hear Harry swallow, can feel his curls brush against the side of his face when he nods eagerly. They haven’t done this in a while, gotten off in public, haven’t really needed to worry about it since they started using private planes, but Harry always loved the challenge. Louis angles his body so that security in the row across from them can’t see and slips his hand underneath the blanket to palm at him through his jeans. Harry tips his head back and clamps his teeth around his bottom lip, curls his hands around the arm rests while Louis unzips his jeans as quietly as possible and tugs him out of his pants.

Louis loves the way Harry feels in his hand, thick and hard and so, so warm. The tip of his cock is already wet and Louis swipes his thumb through the precome, uses it to ease the glide of his hand as he pumps his cock with a loose grip, working Harry up. Harry shifts up into his grip, wincing with pleasure-pain every time his arse hits the seat, and Louis tightens his fist, works Harry’s cock faster, until Harry has wrapped his hand around Louis’ arm, fingers digging in hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks from his nails.

It only takes minutes before Harry is letting out quiet huffing noises, trying desperately to keep his whimpers in. He slips a hand beneath the blanket and closes it around Louis’, tightening his hand around his cock, then cups his hand over the head, mouth falling open as he comes silently in long, shuddering waves. Spent, he collapses back against the seat and lets his eyes fall shut while Louis scrambles about in search of tissues.

By the time he’s gotten them both cleaned up and the dirty tissues tucked away in the pouch in front of him, Harry has slipped into a light doze and the airplane has leveled off. The seatbelt sign turns off a few minutes later and Louis waits until the stewardesses have started to wander the aisles before slipping out of his seat to wash his hands. He comes back with a hot towel from the little airplane kitchen to clean Harry’s, wipes them down gently while trying not to wake Harry up. Harry blinks his eyes open anyway, smiles drowsily and turns toward him, sleep-clumsy hands fumbling to lift the armrest between their seats.

“How much longer?” He asks, voice syrupy-slow, and Louis buries a smile in his hair, strokes his fingers up and down his sides until he can feel Harry relaxing back into the seat.

“Still fourteen hours, love.” Harry’s nose wrinkles adorably and Louis casts a hasty glance around before ducking in to kiss him, quick and chaste. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart, I’ll wake you when we land.”

Harry reaches out blindly for Louis’ hand. Louis takes it, laces their fingers together and brings them up to his mouth so he can brush a kiss across Harry’s knuckles.

“Love you,” Harry slurs, eyelids fluttering closed.

Feeling a bit reckless, Louis ducks back in for another kiss just as a stewardess passes, whispers against Harry’s mouth, “Happy birthday, darling.”

“Next year twenty-two,” Harry murmurs. “Feel you for days.”

“Christ,” Louis mutters, glancing around to make sure no one overheard. Laughing in amazement, he turns back to Harry and finds him already asleep, breaths coming out in slow, even puffs. Shaking his head, he slides down in the seat and tucks Harry’s knees between his, brushes a curl off his forehead and promises, “Next year twenty-two.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you got through that, I appreciate you and also apologize again, there are only so many ways to describe spanking we will now return to your regularly scheduled tooth-rotting fluff. (Feel free to come say hi on tumblr!)
> 
> Endless thank yous to Aggy and Amy for reading over it for me and to Bec for holding my hand and having a very NSFW  
> whatsapp conversation about the logistics of this, I love you guys ♥


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